September 23, 2004

Palm planted
He reclined
Back, in greeting
His dawn, of eastern gold.
Fingers arched,
There was silent focus
In the line of his neck,
Seeking the little
Menace
That was Bent
On return,
And intent,
In its struggle
To cement permanancy
Through forays
To conquer,
The legancy of one man.
Though his Face
Turned away
The sprawled
Seating
On nurtured grass
Said more
Than expression.
This was a soul
Contented,
Knowing, time’s edge
Was near,
And that
Weeding was just
One,
Of a glorious
Multitude
Of memories
He would be taking
With him
Across the divide.

His silouette
Now etched in my mind,
Is seeded whole –
An archetype of peace.
And I am
Forever grateful
For his moment of grace,
Which was sprinkled
Through a window,
Upon a neighbour,
Whom
He never knew.